Through the Valley
by FicklePen
Summary: Gods she was like a drug. So addictive, so wanton. Like nothing, nothing he had ever come across before. This filthy, dirty, muddy girl had somehow burrowed herself so deep into him. So deep that he could feel her moving restlessly beneath his skin.[HGDM]
1. Fallen

**Author's Note:** This is a continuation from my fic _Glad Day_, but it can be read alone, so don't worry if you haven't read the previous one-shot. It's a multi-chapter story, but I'm hoping to get it done in a few short chapters. Now, onto the story!

**Summary: **The war is over and forbidden love is tested. . . HGDM. Can be read alone or as a sequel to _Glad Day_.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Anything you recognise belongs to the fabulous JK Rowling, though it pains me to admit it.

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o 0 o **Through the Valley** o 0 o

_By FicklePen._

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**Chapter One:  
_Fallen._**

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_Mouths melded together softly with the sigh of skin whispering into the humid night; bodies entangled like sibling vines._

_White hot fire consumed him as salty beads of perspiration clung desperately, knowing that the end had come._

_She pushed him over with a final moan, her eyes glittering in afterglow, luscious lips pouted; bruised and well loved. Her ample chest heaved as he kept her bushy curls tangled in his fist, just like the finest, most supple wool. _

_He could barely find the strength and will to pull himself out and away._

_Gods, she was like a drug. So addictive, so wanton. . . Like nothing, _nothing _he had ever come across before. This filthy, dirty, muddy girl had somehow burrowed herself so deep into him. So deep that he could feel her moving restlessly beneath his skin - trembling inside his pounding organ. The one people called a 'heart'. _

_Filthy, dirty, girl._

_But she wasn't a girl. Not any more. She was a young woman. A beautiful, alluring young woman that he had fallen for, despite every bone in his body screaming at him that he was wrong. That he was a traitor. That he would burn in hell for his sins._

_Did she have any idea of the sacrifices he had to make in order to be with her? In order to touch her? _

_Did she? _

_He didn't think so._

_He didn't think she would care. After all, this had started out as a convenience. For both of them._

_But somewhere along the dark fumbling line, it had stopped being a convenience. It had stopped being a game of cat and mouse; of pureblood and mudblood._

_It had stopped._

o 0 o

She was singing.

Softly and quietly; a sweet, lilting song. A lullaby dirge she had learned from her mother. It was a familiar haunting anthem, a ritual that wrought a quiet peace unlike anything he had ever felt before. The sound conjured thoughts of lush emerald fields, endless and infinite. Of spring rain and yellow buttercups. Of contentment; like the fragile stroke of a butterfly's wings against a silent wind. It was glorious. . .

As he stared at the ceiling, the afterglow of their coupling slowly fading, his stomach churned. It was now or never. He would have to do it in this quiet stillness. In this fragile peace. The war was over, the side of Light victorious, and he knew that no other time would be more appropriate.

Slowly, he sat up and stared at the open French windows that stood beyond the foot of the bed. If he concentrated, he could hear the gentle summer rain against the balcony floor, sounding like the soft pitter-patter of steps belonging to an excited child. He almost smiled at the thought.

But instead, he sighed, unable to break his gaze from the mountainous view beyond the French doors, even as he spoke. "Marry me."

The words lingered in the air, like a billowing flag of his proclamation.

She stopped singing abruptly, her arm lowering to her side as she halted the motions of her finger as it traced the carvings in the ceiling.

And he waited. Waited for an answer that would change everything. Everything.

With an almost painful slowness, she turned her head and stared up at the profile of his naked, lithe form as he sat ram-rod straight and gazed out of the large doors.

From the corner of his eye, he watched as she sat up and stared out of the window with him. He would have smirked, knowing that this was the first time he had ever made her speechless, if the situation hadn't been so serious.

". . . Why?"

"Because. . ."

A sigh fell from her lips, like the sound of dead leaves blown before the winds of an on-coming storm. She clutched the dark silk sheets to her bare chest.

He reached sideways, blindly, and tucked a loose strand of cinnamon hair behind her ear. He almost laughed as she flushed cherry red with the intimate gesture. It was the first time he'd ever done anything like that and he. . . enjoyed her reaction to it. She was deliciously adorable when she was flustered.

"Do you know what you're asking?"

"If I didn't know, I would not have asked," he drawled, a sickening flash of nervousness passing through him. It was preposterous, of course. Malfoys didn't get nervous; it wasn't in their blood to be nervous and yet here he was. . . Holding his breath as he waited for her answer.

"Everybody will find out," she whispered morosely. "They won't approve."

A chill and a deep, atavistic ripple of unfamiliar fear went shooting through him. He clenched his jaw at her words and he couldn't help but sneer, still unable to look at her. "You mean that your so-called friend _Potter_ won't approve!"

"Ron wouldn't have approved either," she murmured, grief lacing her voice as it was cast outwards like a trembling ripple in a soulless pool.

He almost winced.

Not everyone had survived the Final Battle. The one that had ended the war and the Dark Lord's reign of terror. The one that had killed many of their childhood acquaintances and her friends. Friends she loved with every breath in her body. But somehow, they had managed to survive. Two lovers brought together by desperation, despair and desire. Brought together by the urge of wanting to _feel_,_ -_ feel anything but the overwhelming solitude that had claimed many in such dark times.

They were the ones that survived and it was time to move on; five months had passed and people were beginning to rebuild their lives, reforge their broken past but she couldn't. Wouldn't . . .

He knew that she still mourned the deaths of her beloved friends. And he could understand that. He could understand that her heart was bruised and hurt, but it was time that she allowed it to heal.

"He would have wanted you to be happy."

She laughed bitterly. "That just proves that you know nothing about Ron. I would bet all the gold in the world that he would want me to cry over him for the rest of my life."

He couldn't help but chuckle at her dry attempt at humour.

She clutched at his forearm desperately as they both stared out at the breath-taking view, still immersed in sweat-soaked, stained sheets. "This. . . This _thing_ between us wouldn't work. There are too many complications."

He snorted. "You mean you're afraid."

And she grew angry at his words. "Of course I'm afraid!" Her snarl was that of a proud lioness and he couldn't help but fall deeper for her. "Of course I am - " she choked, "but I'm also angry. . ."

"Of what?"

"I don't know," she ran a frustrated hand through her hair. "I'm angry that so many are dead, so many who _deserved_ to live. I'm angry that we're alive and that they're dead and I can't help but feel that we have no right to be happy."

A cold fist of ice locked around his heart as he drew back his arm. "We do have the right. You're dishonouring their sacrifice - "

" - _Sacrifice_," she spat, interrupting and laughing hysterically. "That's the crux, isn't it? _Sacrifice_ for the greater good. Ron's _gone_, Ginny's _gone_, Neville's _gone_, Luna's fucking _gone_, and nothing I can do will ever bring them back again," her voice trembled as silent tears began sliding down the slopes of her cheeks. "So you tell me; how the fuck can I not be angry? I feel like a piece of me is dying every single day - "

" - Be angry," he hissed, moving onto his knees to face her, going through the motions like an agile snake. He cupped her face in his hands and stared ruthlessly into her teary chocolate jewels, his grey eyes flashing with passion and something else she couldn't quite name. "Be furious and be afraid, but it only proves that you're still here. You're still alive, Granger!" He stopped suddenly before forcing himself to speak again. "And _I need you. _I need you to keep me from falling back to the way I was."

Her eyes darted back and forth as she fearfully gazed into his hardened grey orbs. "I hate you!" She moaned, pressing her forehead to his as he held tear-stained face. "I hate you so much for what you've done as a Death Eater; I hate you for how you make me. . . how you make me l-love you."

He froze, unable to tear his gaze away as she continued whispering. "But there's a dark place in the human mind, I think. . . where, when hate becomes a passion as intense as the hatred I feel for you, it distils into pure passion. And it's in that black, unnameable pool in the darkest part of the heart, where the line between hate and love is razor thin. And, God help me Malfoy, but I _do_ love you. I just - I just can't _marry_ you."

And with her words, he could feel himself falling; falling down an immeasurable pit of desolation. And he felt lost. He pulled away and rose from the bed, silently, unflinchingly, gathering his strewn clothes before disapparating from their secret villa. The villa they had run to after the war, the villa where their bodies had joined a countless number of times. The villa where he had left his heart, broken into a thousand pieces, within the hands of a woman that denied him the only thing he wanted.

Her.

-

_We all begin out with good intent,  
When love is raw and young.  
We believe that we can change ourselves,  
The past can be undone.  
But we carry on our back the burdens time always reveals.  
In the lonely light of morning,  
In the wound that would not heal.  
It's the bitter taste of losing everything,  
I've held so dear. . . I've Fallen._

_**- Sarah Mclachlan.**_

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**Extra Notes:** _This story is not over_! Did you think I'd leave you with just that :) hee. Reviews are most welcome, concrits will be welcomed with enthusiasm. And remember, it won't all be doom and gloom like this first chapter.


	2. World's on Fire

**Author's Note:** Wow, the response has been fantastic, I'm happy that so many people are enjoying this and it was only the first chapter! Thanks to all who have taken the time to review, comments are greatly appreciated.

**Summary: **The war is over and forbidden love is tested. . . HGDM. Can be read alone or as a sequel to _Glad Day_.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter. Anything you recognise belongs to the fabulous JK Rowling, though it pains me to admit it.

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_By FicklePen._

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**Chapter Two:  
_World's On Fire_.**

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_Her heart ached._

_It was odd, not even physically possible, but for some strange reason her heart ached terribly. Perhaps that was the consequence of loving a man she hated with every fibre of her body. _

_Love. . . is a lie. _

_It isn't like the storybooks. There's no epiphany, no fireworks of declaration, no flutterings. No 'happily-ever-after'. It's _nothing _like that. It isn't a fairytale, where a Princess finds her Prince Charming. . . unless you count your Prince Charming having his hands stained with the blood of innocent lives. _

_It crept up on them so slowly, so inconspicuously, that before she knew it she was in far too deep to ever climb her way out._

_He was different now. And that's why she loved him; because of his capacity to change the way he thought, to change his beliefs. _

_God of Gods, she loved him as much as she hated him. And that was the problem, right there; written in big bold letters on her forehead, etched into her heart. _

_That hate was _poisoning _her from the inside, so she needed to get away. She needed to exorcise that vile emotion; it left such a bitter taste in her mouth, even when he touched her, caressed her like she was the most important, fragile doll. Like she was made of glass. The hate was always there, tainting everything between them._

_She couldn't live with that stain. That burden._

_She just couldn't._

o 0 o

. . . _Two Years Later_. . .

The bustling, buzzing sound of people reminded him bees. Busy, busy bees, excited at the thought of gathering pollen for their hive. Or in this case, gathering mouth-watering books - priceless texts and unpublished works that had somehow found their way here.

Sighing with annoyance, he brushed away the silken strands of silver-blond hair that fell precariously into his steel grey eyes.

He looked around blankly at the multitude of witches and wizards milling around the magical antique bookshop, tucked away in a prestigious part of Diagon Alley. He was surprised, to say the least, to find that the large store had been completely renovated and redecorated. Gone were the hideous colours of canary yellow and vulgar fuchsia. It their place, deep crimson, warm cream and molten gold was the pallet of choice. And it had quite an effect on the warmth of the shop, which had previously been harsh and indifferent.

Everything was neat and orderly.

Comfortable seats surrounded low oak tables, placed in certain dimly-lit corners to afford the effect of intimacy. The smell of hot chocolate and coffee permeated the air from an alcove to the right at the back of the shop, the sound of clinking china reaching his ears.

Eyes slightly widened, he looked at the walls and aisles that were lined with a countless number of glass-covered shelves that reached the high ceiling, housing remarkable titles that certainly wouldn't be found in _Flourish_ _and Blotts_. There was even a shelf for acclaimed Muggle authors. . . No, he wouldn't go down that path. Deliberately moving away he sought out the history section and suddenly found himself entranced by a certain title. Absently, he allowed his fingers to trace the glass that was shielding the gold lettering on the spine of _A History of Hogwarts_.

_Her book._

Chocolate eyes and cinnamon hair flashed through his thoughts. . . A reminder of the past, of a time nearly forgotten. Of heart-break and untold sorrow.

Even now, two years on, she still affected his thoughts. . . In the most deepest fashion. Every action, every gesture and every waking moment, he strived to be the man she wanted him to be. Not Draco Malfoy the Heir of Lucius; not Draco Malfoy the Death Eater, but just. . . Draco Malfoy.

Merlin, even now he would give her the Sun and Moon - all the stars in the galaxy - if she just asked it of him! But there was only silence. A void that could not be filled by anything, no matter how many women he bedded, how much he drank, how much he worked, the void would always exist.

Heart racing, he pulled away sharply and returned to surveying the area.

He could see that the new owner had put a great deal of effort into the running of the shop. And it showed by the countless number of avid book collectors around him. He could hardly move without being brushed by or furtively stared at. It was his infinite grace that he allowed these lowly people to even brush by him. . . There was nothing to be done about it, short of hexing their arses out the door.

Him, Draco Malfoy, owner of the infamous Malfoy Inc. was possibly the most recognised wizard next to Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived and Defeated The Dark Lord. But unlike Golden Boy, people knew not to approach him. His entire stature and standing in society commanded respect, awe and a little fear. Not that he minded.

With an air of importance, he straightened his robes regally and began to walk through the parting crowd; it seemed that people inherently knew that a predator was amongst their midst.

As he neared the busy till, he smirked disarmingly at the young, blonde-haired clerk behind the counter.

She blinked and blushed, looking down before gathering her wits and flashing a sunny smile at him. Before he could speak she had turned to her fellow employee and motioned for the man to attend him.

"Good afternoon, welcome to _Rangreg and Gregran_. My name is Burkley; how may I help you, sir?" The grey-haired assistant questioned, his kindly blue eyes glittering with recognition.

Quirking a brow, Draco rolled his shoulders back and drawled, "I wish to speak with the owner of this establishment."

The elderly man lowered his head slightly, "I'm afraid that is impossible; the owner is presently unavailable."

Grey eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.

After a few moments under his stare, the older gentleman flushed and gulped. "If. . . If you would wait a moment?"

Holding back a triumphant smirk, he watched as Burkley scuttled away like an insignificant creature, through a large door behind the elongated counter.

o 0 o

"How are you?"

She laughed, returning her coffee cup to the expensive desk that sat between them. Her office was modest but elegantly furnished and she had to admit. . . She was proud of the way things had turned out. "I'm fine, Harry, really."

"Just fine?" Her best friend of thirteen years grinned boyishly, his hand tugging at the messy locks of ebony hair that shot out in every direction. He looked like he had stepped through a tornado before being buffeted by a hurricane.

Hermione loved him for it.

She loved his easy manner and she loved that he could still laugh, still be happy. It had taken her a long time to subdue her grief, but Harry, who had always suffered, helped her through the pain of loss and sorrow. They helped each other. The deaths of many of their dear friends - Ron, dear sweet Ron - had all but destroyed her. The despair that had threatened to swallow her whole had been fought back by her best friend, her hero. He was her saviour, and for that she would be forever grateful. He had shown her that not all was lost, that laughter still existed and that it went hand in hand with her infinite grief. Things would never be the same, but. . . Slowly and surely, they were moving onwards and upwards to a place where they could live in relative peace.

"Better than fine. Fantastic!" She smiled softly and reached forwards to clasp the calloused hand that rested on her desk. "Thanks for coming, I know you're too busy to make social calls."

His grin faded slightly. "Yeah, there are _still_ too many Death Eaters on the loose. Bloody cowards if you ask me, hiding from their punishment. The Law Enforcement department is up to it's neck in paperwork. Me and the other field Aurors are scouring the country, even going abroad when we hear of magical problems in the muggle world."

"Wow, sounds like a tough gig," her brow furrowed thoughtfully.

Harry saw her concern and squeezed her hand. "It's all right, you know."

"I know. . . I just - I just wish it would all stop."

"Don't we all?" He smirked, "The department misses you, Auror Granger."

She chuckled bitterly, "I'm sure they do. I keep getting a missive every month for this past year, asking for my reinstatement but. . . I don't think I can do it."

"You definitely don't want to consider it?"

"No, not really. This is my life now, Harry," she gestured at the comfortable office that surrounded them. "I'm quite content, surrounded by what I love the most."

"Well then, I'm glad you're happy. How's - " He was cut off by the sound of knocking.

Hermione scowled. She had specifically asked not to be disturbed! "Come in!" She cast an apologetic look to her friend and looked up at the refined older man that entered. "Ms. Granger," he supplied a little fearfully, "There's a man outside wanting to speak with you."

"Tell him I'm busy Burkley," she sighed with exasperation. How hard could it be? She asked for one simple thing to be done and even that was too much to ask for. It was a rare occasion for Harry to come and visit her, and dammit, she wanted to spend time with her friend!

Burkley looked most put out. He shook his head. "Believe me, this man is _not_ to be refused."

The fear in her employee's eyes sent alarm bells ringing through her. Her troubled gaze caught Harry's and she watched as his emerald eyes narrowed cautiously. Could the man be threatening or dangerous? With a subtle nod from Harry, she turned to Burkley once again. It was an odd feat how they could communicate without words. . . "Tell him I'll be there in a moment."

Burkley nodded, looking fairly relieved before he stepped out again.

The door closed behind him and she found herself standing up slowly. "What do you think? Trouble?"

Harry frowned, but it was smoothed away by an eager smile of anticipation. "If it is, he's going to be in for a surprise."

She snorted. "Try not to let any destructive curses run rampant. I have an expensive collection and I will gut you without remorse if any of them are destroyed."

He laughed and looped her arm through his before kissing her cheek. "Hermione, you worry too much."

They stepped out into the corridor and she elbowed him, earning a grunt. "I know I worry, but just remember, I will _not_ hesitate to gut and castrate you if anything is damaged."

Harry chortled, "Gut _and_ castrate? Getting a bit creative aren't we 'Mione?" he teased mercilessly.

She replied by stepping on his foot and laughed as she heard him mutter _'still so childish'_ under his breath.

Arm in arm, they stepped through the doorway into the large dimly lit bookshop.

o 0 o

As Burkley disappeared, Draco resumed eyeing the wooden counter with interest. He raised a brow, noting the expensive and intricate carvings. This owner was certainly particular. It would be in both their interests for this business relationship to work. He never made personal calls, always sending his assistents, but for this occasion he chose to come himself. After hearing rumours about the elusiveness of the current owner, it was only fitting that he make the effort to corner them.

The sound of the door opening behind the counter caused him to look up. He watched as Burkley exited and walked to the end of the counter towards him. "I have spoken to the owner."

"And?" Impatient. That's what he was. He didn't like to be kept waiting. Not a moment after he had thought this, the carved door opened again and the sound of laughter, masculine and feminine, reached his ears.

The eagerness he felt about this meeting was suddenly drained away as he watched _her_ step out, beautiful and glorious in every way, arm in arm with an annoyingly familiar face. He had never felt so much hate and annoyance for another man, besides his father and the Dark Lord. And he realised in that instant that jealousy was indeed a great big, fat green monster. It reared it's ugly head and snarled into his face, waiting to devour him.

She caught his eye and halted abruptly in the doorway, gasping with shock and horror. . . It did nothing for his ego.

It was a sound that heralded the coming of a great storm. A blizzard of the most humongous proportion.

A most unpleasant reunion, he thought dryly.

The world tunnelled in around them and swept them up in a fervor of flames, caught and imprisoned. Steel and chocolate clashed in an untold dance of the past and he resisted the urge to flee and run as the fiery flames licked around them.

Seeing her again, seeing her now after all this time, after she had rejected him. . . It felt as if the world was on fire.

-

_Hearts break, hearts mend, love still hurts.  
Visions clash, planes crash, still there's talk of,  
Saving souls still colds closing in on us._

_We part the veil on our killer sun,  
Stray from the straight line on this short run.  
The more we take the less we become.  
The fortune of one man means less for some._

_**- Sarah Mclachlan**_

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	3. Room With A View

**Author's Note:** Once again, thank you to all the reviewers, your opinions mean a lot! Updates will be a bit irregular, some may come early and some a little later as I'm busy at Uni, but rest assured, they will come.

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**Chapter Three:  
_Room With A View_.**

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Draco couldn't move; couldn't concentrate on the moment, could barely breathe. It was too much - hurt too much. The weight pressing against in his chest only grew heavier as the seconds slid by like rivulets of condensation rolling down brittle glass. They didn't speak. How could they? After everything they had said and done, after he had left without a single word. . .

She looked the same.

Merlin's fluffy boots, she was _beautiful_ - if only to him. Cinnamon hair curled in intoxicating waves around her shoulder; expressive muddy eyes that still retained some semblance of innocence, even after all of the atrocities they had witnessed. Clad in a white muggle, strapless muslin sundress that fluttered around her curvaceous frame, she was the epitome of everything _pure_ and _good _he had left behind. . . It was if she had been frozen in time from their painful last encounter. Except - except that the shadows in her eyes were nearly all but diminished. Those hateful shadows were dimmed by an air of serenity; it surrounded her like a dove-white cloud, and it was all he could do to keep out from reaching towards her, aching to touch her just for a moment. Aching to touch that purity because he was tainted.

But he couldn't. Wouldn't.

So instead. . . He remembered.

He remembered that as much as she loved books, she also loved art. Vivid, mesmerising, captivating art. Therapeutic; that's what she called it.

In their summer villa, he had seen her using all manner of muggle equipment. Watercolours, oils paints, acrylic paints. . . sometimes pastels, other times charcoal and graphite. But most of all, he remembered the curve of her wrist as she flicked a fine paintbrush across a stark white canvas. It was like watching a haunting dance; almost as if he could taste the tangible sorrow in that one simple gesture. A lifetime of regret and despair entrenched onto her canvas and he had been drawn to it like an unsuspecting moth to a flame.

Such beauty and refinement. . . And he had left, all because he had been burnt by the flame. Burnt by her.

He blinked, but remained unmoving, watching intently as she shuddered and drew herself back from her own musings before casting a single, subtle nod in his direction. What was she thinking?

His throat tightened and grey eyes hardened, but he managed to nod back. He knew the implication of her open acknowledgement. The time for them to speak had come. Too soon, in his opinion.

From the corner of his eye, he saw her childhood friend deftly slip his wand back into his sleeve, as if it had never left with the intention of causing harm. She spoke to the dark-haired, bespectacled man in a hushed and hurried voice that reminded him of the various forays that had occurred in the warm bed they shared before his departure.

Fascinated and mildly disgusted by their familiar interaction, another longing pang reverberated through his hollow chest. Jealousy was an unbecoming trait in a Malfoy. It was not only a vile feeling, but very deadly. His hand itched to grab his wand and blast. . .

They stopped talking and he sighed with relief.

Without even a glance of recognition in his direction, the Boy-Who-Bloody-Kept-Living stalked away into the open area of the shop, leaving him alone with her.

Eyes focused once more, his brow winged with savage surprise as his former lover motioned for him to follow her through to the back.

Breathing deeply, he took that first step into the abyss.

o 0 o

They stepped into a fairly large office, painted with cream and egg-shell blue, and the first thing Draco noticed was the bay window that looked out onto a familiar view. . . It was a charmed window, of course. There was no snowy, mountainous landscape in London. But the view was from the villa; their hidden sanctuary. So she remembered. . . It was an exact replica of the scene from the villa's bedroom window. He wondered if she ever went there, or if it had turned into a crumbling relic.

A spark of hope ignited before he tamped it down ruthlessly. That time was gone, and he would bow down at Potter's feet before ever humiliating himself again like that. He had given her everything of himself and she - she had tossed it back in his face, without remorse, without preamble.

The anger he had felt for the first year after her rejection returned full force. It blazed through him recklessly and heknew that if he didn't control it, something terrible would happen.

Draco shifted warily, turning his cold gaze away from the window and onto the woman standing nervously before him.

He wanted to hit her. Fuck her and hit her.

He wanted to _kiss_ her. . . Kiss those pouted cherry lips -trap that juicy bottom piece of flesh that called out to him like a siren waiting to lead him to his climactic death.

Shuddering, he reigned in every ounce of control and glared at her. His Hermione. . .

She wrung her hands awkwardly before motioning him to sit on a comfortable antique chair. She took the chair behind the desk, purposely putting a strong object between them. Smart woman. But then again, she was the brightest witch of the age.

Not so bright if she could toss away everything they had with a few colourful words.

She cleared her throat. "How did you find me?"

He almost rolled his eyes. He almost screamed. Instead, he sighed. "I wasn't looking for you."

Draco could have sworn she brightened at his carefully controlled words.

Damn witch. . . She still didn't want him.

Contrary to the novels of high romance his mother had been so fond of reading, a person cannot "_mourn in sorrow all their days_" over anything. There is too much good in the world, too much joy in simply being alive, in every single day, to dwell constantly on all the things of life that _wasn't_. The grief of her past had faded and been replaced by something new, something different and more distilled. It glittered like a diamond bathed in moonbeams.

She glowed and radiated contentment. And it made him feel deflated, as if someone had punctured every pore in his skin and there was nothing left inside but an insignificanthusk of the man he was. Of the man he had become for her.

Hermione smiled with relief at his forced words.

And with that smile, he began to feel like two titanic storm fronts were clashing in his head, wheeling into a tornado that threatened to sweep him away. With that same smile, something sang inside him like the warm winds over the moors. Heat began to kindle and grow inside his chest like a slow burning hearth fire after a long freezing day. Two years. . . Two very _long _years without her smile. He had waited so long to see it and much to his chagrin, it sent him soaring upwards.

But from such a high, precarious pinnacle. . . there was so far to fall. So far. . .

"How are you?" She finally asked softly, as she used her wand to prepare him a simple beverage of tea with a lemon and honey twist.

Just the way he liked it.

Something inside him snapped. "I'm not here to exchange pleasantries with you, Granger," he heard himself snarl. He was saying and doing everything opposite. He wanted to hold her, but all he could do was push her away with cold words.

Her smile froze and her hand trembled as she pushed the tea in front of him.

"Oh? So what do you want, Malfoy?" She placed a façade of coolness over her shattered joy but it didn't fool him. Malfoy. Not Draco; not love. But Malfoy. Used like a curse word.

He dismissed the tea with a flick of his own wand. "I'm here to discuss a few rare texts from my father's library," he drawled, "I _was_ hoping to speak with the owner, not the middle-man." He trailed his eyes down her body with a sneer, knowing it would infuriate her. Gods, didn't she know how delicious she looked when angered?

Predictably, his insinuation caused her to bristle. "I _am_ the owner," she hissed, before concentrating on his previous sentence. "How rare are we talking?"

Draco snorted. "Rarer than Hogwarts, Dumbledore and Potter trapped in an ashwinder."

Hermione's mind focused solely on the business as she ignored the insults; a flash of anticipation lit her eyes. "I could have a curator look at them for you. What's their condition?"

He swallowed more insults and returned to the discussion at hand. "Relatively pristine, but a few need to be restored," he admitted.

"Are you willing to sell them? Or do you simply want to find out their condition and price?"

"I would have sold them here, but now that I know _you're_ the new owner. . . I'm not so sure." He smirked outwardly as she huffed with indignation, but on the inside he felt as if he were being ripped apart by a thousand razors.

"You can keep your fucking books," Hermione snapped, and he felt hisheart sink to the tips of his toes. "Have them sent over next week and we'll sort it out. I may have a few collectors interested in buying. . . And you don't have to trouble yourself by coming all this way in person, you can send a representative if you prefer."

"It's no trouble. I got to annoy you, didn't I?" But there was no enthusiasm in his biting words. "The squalor of this place suits your Mudblood heritage. I'm not surprised that you own this pathetic dump."

Lies, it was all lies!

He wanted to tell her that he was impressed, that this was the first book-shop he _wanted_ to stay in. Because it was hers.

Dark brown eyes narrowed dangerously at his careless words. "You're still the same annoying little boy trapped in a grown man's body, aren't you?" She stood from her seat and leaned over the desk, offering him a delectable view of her creamy breasts. Much to her outrage, she caught his eyes looking at her chest and snarled like a wildcat, slamming her palms on the desk. "Oh grow up and get some balls! Of all the degrading, idiotic. . . "

Draco started inwardly at the venom in her voice, but tuned out the rest of her words. A haze surrounded him as her chest heaved buoyantly with fury and it drew him in with startling earnest. By the Gods, he hadnever realised how much he missed those breasts. . .

Her snarling and shrieking went unheard as his eyes remained fixed permanently on the two creamy mounds that seemed to have a life of their own.

He came out of his stupor as he felt something hard smack his cheek. Belatedly, he realised it was her palm.

It stung. . . But damn, what a view.

-

_But what's a man without a past?  
We love him for his lies ,  
And then we try to break him down to make it last,  
'Til they come true.  
Thank God for this beautiful view.  
Beautiful view._

_**- Tina Dico.**_

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	4. Stupid

**Author's Note:** Apologies are in order, I went on a long vacation but now I'm back and ready to finish this story. Thanks to all those who have reviewed, keep your opinions coming, they make my day!

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o 0 o **Through the Valley** o 0 o

_By FicklePen._

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**Chapter Four:  
_Stupid_.**

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_He stared too much. _

_He stared as if wanted to devour her. . . As if he wanted to suck out her soul with a Dementor's Kiss and put it away in his pocket._

_It began towards the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts and resumed all too soon during their seventh. _

_She didn't know why he stared, couldn't decipher the meaning behind it, and it unnerved her. Terrified her, actually._

_Harry and Ron had been furious when she pointed out the strange habit of the platinum-crowned Slytherin. It seemed that they understood his true intentions - but she did not - and they refused to tell her when she questioned them. _

_Why was he behaving so strangely? Why did it feel like she had pins and needles every time they were in the same room together? Why did the air around her become as thick as ebony treacle when those slate grey eyes were focused upon her? She had to muster all of her Gryffindor courage to be within spitting distance of him and even then, she felt as if the entire world had tilted on its axis when she caught him staring at her. _

_For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger didn't have an answer._

_But that wasn't the only thing she noticed about him._

_He had changed during the summer. Strangely enough. _

_Gone was the arrogant, pale, pointy-faced boy. Now, he was oddly quiet; tall and lean, broad in all the right places and. . . All man. All six foot, three inches of him. _

_Yes. . . Draco Malfoy was no longer a mere 'pretty boy'. He had grown up to be a handsome specimen, just like his abhorrent father. Cold and calculating. Deadly and cunning. She saw nothing of his former childish, outward brutality. He was far more subtle with his sharp insults - more like a _true _Slytherin. And that thought frightened her. It seemed that Lucius Malfoy's subsequent release from prison had affected Draco more than he could have realised. _

_It was strange how the girls in school had swooned at their first sight of the newly transformed Slytherin Prince, and even she could admit to admiring him from afar. She could admit to admiring his quiet dedication to his studies and the cool, collected manner in which he conducted himself, even if he was still a vile little ferret under the guise of a strong man. If she didn't have doubts about his true loyalties, she would have openly admitted that . . . Draco Malfoy made her knees turn wobble and turn into jelly. _

_That he made her blood bubble and simmer in her veins whenever they crossed paths, especially when he intentionally brushed his arm against her._

_But Hermione Granger was no fan of school-girl crushes and fantasies - so she did the only thing she could do, and that was to ignore it. She ignored the sweaty palms and heart palpitations, just as she ignored the ache in her stomach and the urge to have him kiss her without restraint. To have him drink from her lips as if she was the only oasis in his lonely desert._

_But that was before he began to continually stare at her. _

_Like she was some sort of difficult puzzle he couldn't begin to fathom. . . _

_She wanted to ask why he stared, but that would mean speaking to him. They hadn't had a full confrontation with one another since the end of their fifth year and she wanted to keep that record unblemished. So far, they had avoided the imminent train crash and she was infinitely relieved._

_The relief was brief, however, and ended when she had found herself alone in the DADA classroom, having sent her two best friends ahead to the Great Hall for lunch without her. She had too much parchment and quills to pack away, she said, so she had insisted they leave and save her a seat. What a fool she had been._

_Merlin, why had she done such a stupid, _stupid _thing? How could she have been so careless? So reckless?_

_She thought she had been alone as the sound of the other students drifted away, out of the door and down the corridor. But when the door to the classroom shut, she felt herself shaking at the strange yet familiar sensation of pins and needles prickling at her skin. _

_Her suspicions weren't confirmed until she felt a warm body invade her aura and his spicy breath caressed her temple like a forbidden lover's touch. His chest seemed to heave in a tumult of aching need and tempestuous torrents of self-hatred. _

"_Mudblood?" The whispered insult had almost caused her to collapse. So she returned the gesture._

"_Ferret?" She was proud that her voice was steady and calm amidst the raging storm surrounding them. _

_He chuckled at that. _

_So deeply and darkly that it sent sinful shivers down her spine. And she found that she wanted to hear it again. Again and again and again. She never wanted him to stop because if he stopped, her heart would shudder and burst and --_

"_There's something I don't understand," he wrapped his finger in one of her loose cinnamon curls and tugged almost gently, possessively. "It's annoying me because I _can't _understand it." He was standing so close behind her. Only centimetres away. So close, and yet so far away. . . _

_Her wand was already in her trembling fingers, but she refused to turn around. Refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. Of seeing her need._

"_What don't you understand?" She asked, playing along with his little game._

"_You. . . You dirty, mudblood bitch." She listened as he took a deep, shuddering breath, as if he were inhaling her scent like a bloodhound, imprinting it into his mind and branding it across his soul. _

_And then. . . He leaned even closer, so close that she felt as if her heart was about to claw free from her chest and fly away. Close enough that she nearly jumped out of her skin when he placed a soft, moist, butterfly kiss on the patch of naked skin behind her ear._

_She didn't move - she was shaking too much for that. . . But when she finally did, when she finally garnered the famous Gryffindor bravery and turned with her wand out, he had already left. Left her to collapse heavily into the chair behind her desk, as she tried to collect the tattered pieces of her pride from the cold floor. Left her to feel the burning sensation of his lips - forever emblazoned and burned into the skin behind her ear. And what made it situation worse; what made it completely unforgivable? _

_She had wanted to feel it again. _

_She had wanted to feel his lips trailing all over her, branding her and marking her dirty, dirty skin._

_That was when her tears began. The stupidity of it all? She couldn't seem to stop._

o 0 o

Draco didn't know how it happened.

He didn't know how Hermione could be slapping him one moment and kissing him the next. He soon found out that she wasn't kissing him, but instead, trying to push him away. . . And it was then he realised that some time between her slap and the kiss, he had pinned her precariously to the wall behind her desk, her arms above her head in a delightful pose. . . That he was savagely attacking her pouted cherry lips with his own, in a reunion dance of lost souls and frayed dreams that would never come true.

Her resistance didn't last long.

It never did.

Instead, she melted into his kiss, like butter spread across crisp, hot toast.

For Draco, it felt like coming home after a long holiday.

It felt like raindrops and lilies and all things. . . _Good _and _pure_. Something he could never be, but something he was more than willing to taint and sully with his own darkness. . . . His own impurity. He was a Slytherin to the core, after all.

Tongues clashed, teeth collided - and it was every bit of insanity and want and burning need and. . . It drove him to distraction. Ruby lips glided over his in a familiar rhythm; her kiss _seared_ him deep within. It was painful and glorious and he never wanted it to stop. Never ever, ever, ever. . . Don't stop. Please don't stop. And so the mantra repeated itself, over and over, escalating until he was screaming at himself to pull her closer, push her away. Anything to stop the burning! Anything to keep it going. . .

But as her curves began to mould into his solid frame, he knew it wouldn't last.

His utopia would be torn away from him again and Draco didn't think he could let her humiliate him a second time without killing her first. So he pulled back slowly, reluctantly - breathing as if he had just run all the way to Hogwarts and back again without a moments respite. And as his lips drew away, it felt as if she was still holding onto one of his essential fibres, and that every breath she took away from his mouth was, bit by bit, unravelling him. . .

Draco waited for the backlash but noticed that she was partly smiling, partly glaring at him in only a way that Hermione Granger knew how to.

"Arrogant, presumptuous arse!" Her breathy voice rushed straight through his blood, towards his groin and the prominent bulge in the expensive, tailored Italian trousers beneath his fitted robes.

He smirked through the silent but deadly pang in his heart, knowing that even if she reacted to him, she still didn't want him. And never would. "You were hardly complaining, Granger."

Hermione seemed to hesitate as she nibbled her lower lip; her doe eyes filled with unanswered questions and something . . . Something he couldn't quite put his finger on. "Draco. . ."

The way she said his name made him want to recoil.

It hurt much more than the slap. He straightened himself and forced his expression to remain blank. "I'll send the books in next week." Good. Proud and unaffected - indifferent - even if he was trembling inside with the desire to fuck her against the wall of her pristine office.

Somehow, somewhere deep inside, Draco found the courage to turn and leave - but not before hearing five whispered words that caused his entire world to come crashing down around his ears.

"_Why did you leave me?"_

-

_Love has made me a fool, set me on fire and watched as I floundered.  
Unable to speak except to cry out and wait for your answer,  
And you come around in your time, speaking of fabulous places.  
Create an oasis that dries up as soon as you're gone.  
You leave me here burning in this desert without you._

_**Sarah Mclachlan.**_

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	5. Dirty Little Secret

**Author's Note:** Again, I would like to thank everyone for their support and reviews! And now, I will shamelessly plug the site _Colored Grey _and the staff for hosting an amazing Hermione/Draco fanfiction archive. If you're searching for good Hermione x Draco romances, that's the place to go!

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_By FicklePen._

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**Chapter Five:  
_Dirty Little Secret_.**

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"_Why did you leave me?"_

It was funny.

The words that fell from her lips sounded as if she had just asked. . .

Incredulous at her own stupidity and Gryffindor impulsiveness, she slapped her hand over her mouth in mortification. Crimson blood rushed to her face and she all but _glowed_ with embarrassment. Two years without him and Draco's remarkably sudden appearance had turned her brain into a sodden lump of inactive tissue. But there was something. . . _Something_ tugging at her insides, pulling and tearing and demanding to question his absence - to question his actions.

_Why?_ _Why had he left? After everything. . . _

During the following months, Hermione had been utterly lost and confused. It was as if she was searching blindly in the dark for a lifeline - for anything - to keep her afloat. To keep her from drowning without his strong presence by her side. Her grief had been so vast that she couldn't even see the end of it. It was like the tip of a mountain, shrouded and hidden by grey storm clouds.

If it hadn't been for Harry. . . Who knew how long it would have gone on for? So, even when she spoke of her hate for him on that final, summer's day - she knew that her hatred had somehow twisted itself into a dangerous form of _love_.

The kind of love that left you incomplete and unable to draw breath if that person was more than a few feet away. The kind of love that was boundless and powerful; where the ground trembled and heaved beneath your feet when you locked eyes.

Hermione hadn't believed that kind of love could ever exist. A few years ago, she would have scoffed. Laughed and scoffed and dismissed the stupidity of it all. She was a practical girl, after all. The ground heaving and trembling? Utter rot. . . But the ground _did_ heave. And it did tremble. Gods, she could barely stand upright! And she found that it happened to her with none other than Draco Malfoy.

Hate; love. It was all the same - but she didn't understand it at the time. She loved to hate him and hated that she loved him.

So understandably, she'd been _stricken_ when he had left without a word after her refusal.

Just because Hermione rejected his proposal, didn't mean. . . That didn't mean that she wanted him to leave her. Leave her all alone with the nightmares and the corpses and the blood and . . . And the unforgotten ghosts of loved ones that came to haunt her in the dead of night. . .

It was the sound of a chair crashing to the floor that slapped her out of the stupor she was swimming in.

She blinked furiously, washing away the horrific memories that were scattered before her feet like the dead, shriveled leaves of Autumn - hoping that they wouldn't rustle because every time they did, every time they quivered, she could see. . . See the dead and feel the grief she'd thought she had buried a year ago.

Eyes focused on the present, Hermione watched in pure horror as a slow furnace of blinding rage burned within Draco's lead eyes.

"Draco. . . ?"

He snarled inarticulately; dangerously.

It was apparent that her question had prodded the sleeping snake in a rather unwanted and unwelcome manner. And he was ready to strike out in retaliation.

Unfortunately, she was his target.

A muffled squeak was torn from her lips as he advanced towards her, fists clenching and mouth moving silently - furiously - in words he couldn't seem to speak out loud. She pressed herself further into the wall, as if she could disappear with that single gesture.

As he neared, a bright spark of fear and deep ripple of desire seemed to rush through Hermione; with a dry mouth, she saw him physically shake, radiate and vibrate with white, hot rage.

Dumbfounded and speechless, she watched silently as he picked up a crystal paperweight from her desk and flung it at the wall above her head.

She screamed - shrieked helplessly and a bit fearfully, like a little girl, even as her lower stomach was tingling with something she hadn't felt since he left her. Desire. Pure, raw desire. She _screamed_ and covered her head as shards of glass came raining down upon her head. Briefly, Hermione wondered why she had placed a Silencing Charm on her office. No one could hear. . . She was utterly helpless and alone.

Choking back a sob, she winced as one of the shards cut into her bare shoulder; she shook as another item was flung from her desk to the wall behind her head.

And so it went. On and on and on, until she was trembling and sobbing with utter fright, her insides feeling scraped and raw but the sheer amount of _pain_ she had caused him -

Silence.

There was blessed silence. . . Save for the sound of his breath coming out in great heaves, like frothy giant waves rushing into shore before receding back out in an endless black ocean.

Shivering, she raised her head and almost instantly wished she hadn't.

Oh Gods.

He was looking at her again with such intensity; such anger. . . and longing. If only he would stop looking at her _like that. _Please _stop_. Please stop looking! Hermione could tell that he was holding on by a thread - she could see that now - holding on to that last piece of rational thought before it too could be ripped away from him.

"I'm _so_ _sorry_. . ." Why she whispered those watery words, she didn't know. She would never know. But. . . She _was_ sorry. Sorry for making him lose the proud iron grip on his control. Sorry for asking that stupid question. Sorry for refusing him. She was sorry, sorry, _sorry_. . . And she wanted him to know that.

He was on her in an instant.

Growling and pinning her down to the empty desk - devoid of all her possessions that were now scattered and laying broken on the floor. Like her heart.

Trapped. She was trapped. Trapped beneath him, beneath his fury, his need. . . His infinite longing. It was there, all burning and blazing brightly in the cold, bottomless grey stones of his eyes.

Lower lip trembling, Hermione looked up as he sneered and leaned over her prone form upon the desk, still panting with unfettered anger.

"_Fuck_, Granger! _Fuck you_!" His lips were so close to her own as he held her down, breathing into her mouth and warming her deadened insides. "You don't get to ask that question!" So much anger. . . So much hate in those words but behind it, she heard his aching need. She heard it and _felt _it as he held her down and pressed his desire against the inside of her thigh. "You have no fucking _right_ to ask that."

Eyes locking, body quivering beneath his, she raised her chin in defiance. "Why not? Why can't I ask? I have every right." He was growling by the time she finished speaking.

She didn't expect his next, brutal words.

"You have no right, _because_ you said **_NO_**!" Hermione held back a whimper as he hissed into her face and shook her so forcefully that the back of her head banged roughly against the oak desk - two years of pent up anger finally unleashed. People say that you always hurt the ones you love. . . She never meant to cause him this much pain. She never meant to.

Biting back another sob, she began to whisper so quietly that he had to almost press his ear against her mouth. "Draco. . . I never told you to leave. . ."

He froze. . . Froze as his eyes battled her own for a single shred of truth.

She gave it to him in spades.

Hermione poured all of her love, her disgust, her hate, her passion; her utter fucking _need _for him into that one gaze as she showed him, showed him all of her dirty, little secrets. She showed him how bereft she had been without his presence these past two years. Showed him that even though she was content to the outside world, on the inside - inside she was so bloody _lonely _without him, without his touch. Lonely without someone to battle her at every turn; someone to keep her on her toes.

Someone to rip her apart with cutting insults at the slightest chance, before fucking her senseless and proving - just proving that his harsh words were only that. Just words. Just a fake battle to make the lust and passion between them seem all the more sweeter.

It just proved that his words were lies and the truth of the matter? The truth was that she was the most beautiful thing on this planet to him, and that nothing, _nothing_ could replace her. . . Merlin, she opened every door to her soul, every window, every nook and cranny so that he could _see_ exactly what these past two years had been for her.

Hell. Torture. Pure hell and complete torture - especially when she let herself think about him.

And Draco saw.

God of Gods, he saw.

She allowed him to see the truth of the matter in her eyes and she watched as his anger ignited and escalated even more, spiraling upwards and away - this time at himself.

"Bloody hell, you _stupid_ bint - "

His harsh words were drowned against her mouth as his lips found hers once more. And he kissed her for the second time that afternoon. Desperately - feverishly - almost as if she would slip through his fingers like priceless grains of sand. It was as if he was drinking something from her and he was so parched that he couldn't seem to stop. She could feel it; she could feel all of his anger leeching into her own skin as she absorbed it through her mouth, sucking it out as though she was drawing poison from an open wound. Perhaps she was. . .

Merlin, she couldn't breathe!

She was vaguely aware that Draco's movements were rough and jerky, none of the fine Malfoy finesse seemed to remain as he wrapped her legs around his hips and ground his throbbing erection against her heat. Nothing about him seemed refined as he shoved his hand clumsily up her dress before angrily pulling at the line of her underwear, almost ripping the delicate lace before deciding to push it aside as he used his free hand to tug roughly at the zip of his trousers.

Oh God, she could feel it. He was so close. So close to completion; so close to coming full circle from their painful last moments together.

But just as he was about to fill her - fill her body, her heart, her empty soul and the void - she heard a distant knocking and the unwelcome sound of her friend's voice.

"Hermione. . ? It's me, open up!"

They froze together in their risqué tableau, their eyes seeking one another out in shock and dismay.

Before Hermione could register what was happening, Draco had kissed her roughly once before righting himself from the edge of the desk, pulling her along with him.

"This is far from over, Granger." His eyes smouldered with dark, unfulfilled promises as he flicked his wand at himself, then at her, to straighten out their dishevelled appearance. It was done so casually, as if it was second nature and that there was nothing odd about the fact that he was about to fuck her against her desk.

"Get rid of him," he growled quietly, eyes flashing and never leaving her aching body.

Hermione swallowed, shivering and nodding with anticipation.

Yes, this was most definitely _not_ over.

-

_If I had the chance, love,  
I would not hesitate.  
To tell you all things I never said before.  
Don't tell me its too late,  
Cause I've relied on my illusion,  
To keep me warm at night.  
And Ive denied in my capacity to love,  
But I am willing to give up this fight._

_**- Sarah Mclachlan.**_

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